


A Month of MerriHawke

by BlushingDragon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Kirkwall Crew Is A Family, Not Beta Read, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Women Loving Women, chapters not in chronological order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushingDragon/pseuds/BlushingDragon
Summary: MerriHawke is my current romance, and I wanted to explore more sides of it than the game had room for, and what better month for a 30 Day OTP Challenge than Pride Month (edit: or Femslash February)? Featuring my warrior Andrea Hawke."Merrill stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed Andrea’s cheek, her face lighting up in a smile. Her cheek was cupped in one of Merrill’s delicate hands, and Andrea barely resisted the urge to rock forward a bit to chase the sensation. The butterflies in her stomach, a common symptom of Merrill’s nearness, made her giddy."
Relationships: Female Hawke/Merrill
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. Day One: A Kiss Hello

Andrea stood, hands on hips, half-heartedly glaring at a cake that looked almost comically misshapen. Some attempt to even out the top had been made, using large pats of thick icing to both support and glue the layers together, but the result was a far cry from a professional bakery’s creation. She frowned and sullenly swiped at the streaks of flour on her arms and shirt. There _had_ to be a way to salvage this for the party tonight… 

A cacophony of happy barks burst from the parlor surprised her, and she smiled as she moved to the front of the house. Standing at the edge of the entry hall, Duke the mabari romped in a circle around Merrill, who looked both exhilarated and frightened of Duke’s boisterousness. 

“Give Merrill some room, there, good buddy,” Andrea instructed. She strode forward and tousled the top of his head before turning to Merrill. “You made the trip alright?”

Her pale cheeks pinked under Andrea’s concern. “I did. I woke up and I was so excited, so I made the trip a bit early, but then I wasn’t sure how early I was supposed to be, so I waited and just walked around Hightown, but then I thought you’d worry about me so I figured I should just come in. It’s good to see you, Hawke.” 

Merrill stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed Andrea’s cheek, her face lighting up in a smile. Her cheek was cupped in one of Merrill’s delicate hands, and Andrea barely resisted the urge to rock forward a bit to chase the sensation. The butterflies in her stomach, a common symptom of Merrill’s nearness, made her giddy.

But the flour on her shirt reminded her that there was a job they had to do. Andrea refocused and led Merrill into the kitchen. 

“Now, I hope you won’t be disappointed. The cake came out a little messy, so frosting it will be a bit of an adventure…” 

Merrill shook her head as if to banish Andrea’s agitation. “I’m sure Varric will appreciate it, even if it ends up looking bad. I remember getting so many scarves from little ones in the clan who were just starting to learn how to weave. One of them was so scratchy and thin, I thought it was a rope at first. It really is the thought that counts, Hawke. And it’s not like this birthday can be worse than last years!”

Andrea snorted. “I’ll bet. Walking up a mountain, catching on fire, walking down a mountain, and being treated for dracoling fire burns wouldn’t make the top of the list for best birthdays he’s had. At least he’ll be able to laugh at the cake without his chest hurting.”

Merrill inspected the cake on its cake stand while Andrea retrieved the frosting and spatulas. She poked it tentatively, almost expecting to tilt precariously, but it only trembled slightly. How structurally sound were human birthday cakes supposed to be, anyway, if they were this tall?

“Your assessment, Merrill?” Andrea asked in an overly dramatic tone, her smile wide to convey the joking intent. 

“Well, I’ll say that if you were elvhen, I don’t think you’d be picked to build an aravel,” Merrill answered dryly. Her face flushed when Hawke laughed, the sincere and breathless way when she thought something really was funny, in a good way. It was novel, the way it was safe to joke with Hawke, because she would smile and tell Merrill that she appreciated the effort if a joke fell flat, and really encouraged her to practice it. 

The two women quickly spread the sunshine yellow frosting across the top of the cake, which was the easy part. Andrea considered the lumpy column of layers: the dips, the ridges, the valleys

“I’ll stand on this side of the counter and spread it to the right. How about you stand on the other side and spread around to your right?”

“Right,” Merrill said. Scooping a heap of frosting on the spatula, she carefully spread the frosting. Sharply focused on her own hand, Merrill ran her utensil right into the only possible obstacle: Hawke’s hand. The spatulas fell with a clatter. Merrill yanked her hand close to herself like she’d been burned. 

Hawke’s fingers were covered in the bright yellow icing, like she’d been caught with her whole hand in a bottle of pollen. Andrea stared at her hand like it had talked out of the blue, and Merrill giggled. It was a little funny. Then Hawke looked at her, smiled mischievously, and raised her hand to her lips. Her pink tongue darted out, tasting the sweet flavor, before she took her fingers into her mouth, one by one, licking and sucking the icing off of her fingers. 

Merrill felt warm all over as she watched Andrea's fingers emerge from her lips glistening with the traces of saliva still wet on her skin. She swallowed hard, but her mouth was more dry than sand on the Wounded Coast.

“Well, at least now I’m sure that this isn’t some poor imitation of good icing, or, stars forbid, _fondant,_ ” remarked Andrea with a wry grin. 

Her remark pulled a light giggle from Merrill, though she tried to smother it. "Hawke! Let's agree to be silly after the cake is done? We'll still be working when everyone arrives, otherwise!"

"As you wish, Merrill," Andrea agreed. "Silly later."


	2. Day Two: Celebrating an Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill about town, reflecting on the past five years.

Five years. Just less than a fifth of her life now had been spent in the Kirkwall alienage, and yet it felt like Merrill had known Hawke and her friends for barely three months. So much had happened in five years, and while Merrill knew in her mind that it had all built up over time, the memories seemed like each major event was one part in a gauntlet that she was in the middle of running through. 

Merrill’s eyes darted to a corner of the Lowtown market out of an unbroken habit: Lady Elegant’s potion stall hadn’t sat in Lowtown for almost two and a half years, her ascent into Hightown becoming finalized shortly after Hawke’s own. How often had Merrill been trailing beside Andrea when the warrior’s face had lit up and, with speed that defied her plate armor, she had raced to meet her fellow human? The first several times, Merrill wondered how the sun must’ve been behind a cloud until just then, until Isabela laughed and remarked on it. 

“You have got it bad for the beautiful and intelligent ones, don’t you, Hawke?” she’d said as the three of them continued walking towards the Hanged Man. 

Andrea Hawke’s face coloured until it almost matched her hair. “El-  _ Lady Elegant  _ is married, Isabela. She  _ likes _ her husband, even! There isn’t anything… untoward going on between us, so don’t insinuate it.” 

“I’m not insinuating anything,” she protested with a teasing grin. “I’ve just noticed that your expression upon seeing  _ Lady Elegant _ is rather similar to Duke’s when you’ve told him it’s time for a walk.”

Merrill had thought that the comparison wasn’t quite spot-on, but understood the general idea. Andrea had slowly stopped staring after Lady Elegant as the expedition crawled steadily nearer, but Merrill let the memory of Hawke’s face, lit up with delight, linger with her. 

Passing one of a few familiar faces as the market slowly woke up, Merrill smiled and waved; just a short back and forth of one hand, a city dweller’s wave. She’d learned it sometime in the second year. The young elf—Juniper, named for a plant, as her mother had wanted to get in touch with their Dalish roots, apparently—smiled back, and gave Merrill the same wave before turning back to the poultry merchant she was haggling with. 

The younger elves were the most receptive to Merrill’s efforts to get to know them, as most of them had reached adulthood with her in the background of their lives. The elders considered her harmless, and didn’t acknowledge that she was a mage for her protection and their own. It was odd, that people didn’t know or didn’t instinctively go to her in need of a service anymore, although it wasn’t exactly new: the clan had tapered off in their requests of Merrill’s time and efforts when it became clear to everyone who cared to notice that Marethari was planning on replacing her First. 

Slowly, it became known in the alienage that you should go to Merrill, the odd little woman whose house was tucked into the end of a tight, dead-end street, if you needed someone to watch little ones while you took an extra shift, or if there was some illness you had and didn’t feel comfortable discussing with any other healers, or just wanted to hear a story about what elves were before, and ought to be again. Although no one really did come around just for that last one; Merrill was sure the young ones were only humoring her when she told them stories. 

Merrill surveyed her home as she closed the door behind her, taking in the books she’d left on the table and wood-shaping tools abandoned next to her bedroom door. A very distinctive mabari-headed maul was propped up next to a spare staff, and thick boots, fit to a human’s foot, were placed at a neat angle beside Merrill’s herb basket. The very picture of domesticity, in those details, and her heart seemed to beat stronger at noticing them. 

It was a quieter life in some aspects, like no longer expecting to pick up everything and move hundreds of miles every second month, It was the interludes where she worked on the eluvian and worked with Hawke that gave depth to the slow times, because the whirlwind of combat was a height that Merrill hadn’t known that she wanted until the first time Hawke asked her to trek down the Wounded Coast. 

Merrill had kept mostly to the back, slinging spirit energy bursts against the giant arachnids, when Hawke cried out. The redhead had thrown herself out of the way of a lunging venomous bite, but now she was prone on the sand, struggling to defend herself and get back up. Faster than she thought it through, Merrill whipped her knife across her palm, then spread the blood up her fingers. She made a fist, yanked back toward herself. The spider curled on itself, collapsing on its back, as its blood curdled from inside. The cut on her palm burned somewhat as the spell ended. 

Andrea lurched to her feet, leaning on her maul in a concerning way. She raised her head, face spattered with blood and her usual kaddis paint, and grinned at Merrill. One of her teeth must’ve been knocked loose, because even her smile was bloody. 

“I don’t remember that from Sundermount,” Hawke remarked. “That’s wicked brilliant, Merrill. Thanks.” 

Merrill almost thought her blood was spontaneously becoming air, she thought she was floating at the praise. “You’re very welcome, Hawke.”

She couldn’t stay away from Hawke’s fights after that, even volunteering without being asked, until it was almost expected that Merrill would be fighting at Hawke’s side. The expedition had been the only real exception to that rule, because a former Grey Warden and a healer would be more useful in the Deep Roads alongside the Sisters Hawke and Brothers Tethras.

Behind her bedroom door, thin as it was, Merrill heard a voice as familiar as her own mutter a curse, and the thump of a human half-falling out of a tiny bed shook the wall. Merrill giggled, and set to work purifying water. 

By the time the water had boiled once and spent around fifteen minutes taking in the purification crystals, a very dishevelled Andrea Hawke had emerged from Merrill’s room, shirt tucked into her trousers but feet left bare. She bent down to press a kiss to Merrill’s temple.

“I meant to join you going to the market this morning, sorry,” she murmured as she slipped her arms around Merrill’s waist. “Why on earth do you go so early?”

“The water tablets are cheaper earlier in the morning,” Merrill explained, craning her head back to kiss Hawke’s chin. 

“But today’s special,” Andrea pouted. “It’s all about you, after all.” 

It was the first time Hawke had indicated that she knew what day it was, and Merrill blinked once in surprise before smiling widely. 

“That’s why I made tea,” she said, and gestured at the two chipped mugs on her table. “So I can take a few more minutes with you this morning.”

“A few more minutes alone, without Isabela and Varric prying about us and making jokes, you mean?” 

“That too.”


	3. Day Three: A homemade gift

Andrea fidgeted outside of Merrill’s door, turning the package she carried over and over in her hands. A thin wood box, with a little brass latch on the front, with perfectly symmetrical vines winding across the top of the lid. Andrea smiled at the thought that Merrill would love the box on it’s own, thinking that Hawke had done it all herself, and she’d remind her than the present—what Hawke had done all on her own—was on the inside. 

After her knock went unanswered for several more heartbeats, Andrea frowned slightly. She knocked again, a little more firm. She could’ve sworn Merrill would be home right now…

A clatter of objects behind the door confirmed that yes, Merrill was on the premises. Andrea rocked her weight from the balls of her feet to her heels, anticipating the door opening. 

“Who is it?” Merrill’s tremulous voice demanded through the door.

“Merrill? It’s me, Hawke,” she answered, frowning harder now with concern. 

The door swung open, revealing Merrill standing on the other side, her head hung a little. 

“I knew that,” Merrill admitted. She steeled herself, squaring her shoulders, although she continued to not meet Hawke’s eyes. “I… didn’t want you to see me, in case you were… disappointed in me, like Marethari. For wanting the arulin’holm so badly. You don’t have to understand, and you don’t have to like it, but it’s what I’m going to do, so…” She trailed off as she looked at Andrea’s face, then at the box in her hands, then back to her face. 

“You’re not,” she observed, a bit of wonderment in her voice. 

“I’m not,” Andrea agreed. “I wanted to give you this. I wanted a physical thing to give you, to show you that I’m supporting you. Aside from the arulin’holm, because that wasn’t and shouldn’t have been mine to give you. Can… can we go inside for this part?”

Merrill’s wide eyes blinked for a moment, taking a bit to register that they were still on her doorstep, before she stepped back into her front hall. “Of course, please, come in, Hawke.”

Andrea ducked slightly to get through the door, forgetting that she’d left her maul behind just this once and didn’t need to account for the height. Once Merrill closed the door behind them, Andrea turned to her and thrust the box forward slightly. She watched Merrill’s delicate hands take the box, and bit her tongue to resist the urge to launch into overexplaining the gift. 

Merrill’s fingers skimmed the vines winding across the top of the lid. “Hawke…” 

“Open it,” Andrea encouraged. “Please.”

She undid the latch, and pressed the lid back on its hinges. Merrill inhaled quickly, and a grin began to pull at her lips. She pushed past Hawke to set the box down on her table, to pull the leather work belt out of it and hold it up, searching for the details. Leaves and little hala were etched into the main band, Her lack of words tested Andrea’s resolve to keep calm, and words poured out of her:

“I was a leatherworker’s apprentice for several years, in Ferelden. It was something to bring in money for my family, and I kept it up because I did actually like it. There’s a loop on it for your staff, and spaces for pouches. I built one in already, and I’m fairly confident that it’ll fit the--”

“The arulin’holm,” finished Merrill, brushing her hand against the mentioned pouch. A laugh burst from her like a gust of wind, and tension drained out of her shoulders. “Is this why you were looking at it so curiously, the last few days? I thought you were regretting giving it to me!” Her shoulders shook slightly, and when Merrill brought a hand up to her eyes, Andrea realized she was crying. 

She moved in slowly, lightly draping her arms around Merrill until the elf clutched her back. She enveloped her in the embrace, rubbing one hand slowly down the length of her back. 

“I’d never regret backing you, Merrill, unless it hurt you beyond what you can handle,” she promised. “I trust you, and I believe in you.” 

Merrill looked up at her, green eyes shining like morning dew on grass, and Andrea’s heart felt like it would burst through her chest. Merrill said, “Ma serannas, lethallan.”


	4. Day Four: Reunited

Merrill entered the Hawke estate with hardly a prickle of uneasiness. She’d earned that state of practiced ease by the constant practice she’d put in during the seventeen days that had passed since the death of the Arishok by Hawke’s hands. It’d been uncomfortable for her in Hightown, and it still was: being around so many humans, she’d gotten used to that. Being around so many beings that she knew probably thought of her as less than a person, and thought less of Hawke because of their association, was the truly discomforting factor. 

Of course, the humans were unable to be vocal about it now, after Hawke had been named Champion. It got Merrill far less dirty looks on the walk up to the estate, anyway, and she knew that, once Hawke woke up, she’d take perverse pleasure in reminding Hightown exactly what treatment of her companions she would and would not tolerate. Andrea Hawke was kind, and staunchly defended her people, and saved violence for when it was the last straw, and when that time came, well. There was a reason the statue on the docks had the Arishok’s head underfoot. 

Andrea hadn’t emerged from the battle as successfully as the statue implied she had. Her eyes hadn’t opened since she’d collapsed outside the Keep. Thus, Merrill had begun the slow migration of many of her things into the estate, preparing for the day that she would see Andrea’s sea-blue eyes again, and that Hawke would see that Merrill had taken her up on her offer and made them a clan of two. Three, if you counted the mabari, and Merrill knew that Hawke did.

Duke bounded up to her as she entered, and obediently lowered his head for scritches. He’d used to intimidate Merrill, being almost two thirds of her height while on all fours, but now she just allowed herself to be impressed and comforted by the bulk, a bit like how she’d grown to love Andrea’s impressive stature. 

“Is she any better today, Duke? Any sign of waking up?” Merrill murmured. 

He whimpered, so Merrill took that to mean no. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and gave Duke a final pat on the head before she began her march up the stairs.

Andrea’s room looked just the same: the curtains were open part-way, letting in a just shaft of the oppressive midsummer sunlight while the fireplace held only ashes of last night’s fire. The bed curtains were drawn back to expose Andrea’s prone figure, her chest and head propped up by an impressive collection of pillows that had been scrounged up from elsewhere in the mansion. Her bandages were hidden, beneath both the thin blanket and her sleeping shift, and her arms were left atop the covers. Merrill’s chair hadn’t been moved either, with its back to the fireplace so that she could see how the sunlight caught on Andrea’s fiery hair even in slumber. She took her seat and Andrea’s hand into her own, stroking the warrior’s pale skin made paler by her confinement to bed.

“Hello, vhen’an,” Merrill began softly. “What news do I have for you today? Well, Juniper and her young man got married yesterday. I’m pretty sure the chaos from a few weeks ago scared them into it, because they’re so very young. I guess I’m not one to talk, being twenty-five, but they’re only nineteen! When I was nineteen, Tamlen, Lyna, and I wanted to start our own clan, all by ourselves!” Merrill laughed quickly at the memory of discussing with the two archers how they would announce their new clan at the next Arlathvhen, but sobered in an instant. 

Merrill spoke of lighter subjects: Juniper’s husband had a good job at the cooperage, an industry always flourishing in a port city; Aveline had wondered aloud at Wicked Grace several nights ago whether she should ask Donnic if he wanted a child soon, now that the Qunari were gone; Varric had started passing around drafts of what he called “The Tale of the Champion: An Epic In Two Parts” among Hawke’s friends, with stern instructions to give him any changes they wanted made to their characterization before he went to publishing.

“I told him I would ask you whether or not you wanted our relationship to be included in the book, vhen’an, because while I feel like it would be a lovely story, it really isn’t anyone else's business. That, and I wasn’t sure if you’d think it’d be necessary to… hide us, from people who’re like the ones in Hightown, who look down on us.” 

Andrea’s hand spasmed, gripping Merrill’s hand hard, and Merrill gasped. It was almost loud enough to cover up Andrea’s hoarse reply. 

“It isn’t their business,” she agreed, a soft smile in the corner of her mouth despite her furrowed and focused brow, “but I understand: I want to tell people I love you all the time."

Tears sprung up in Merrill’s eyes at the glimpse of Andrea’s incredible turquoise eyes, a hue that had been missing from her life for almost eighteen entire days now, one that she’d feared wouldn’t come back to her. She wiped at her face, and began slowly climbing onto the mattress, pressing feather-light kisses up Andrea’s arm as she went. She settled herself next to her lover, her Champion, careful not to jostle her, and cupped her face. Merrill pressed two final kisses on Andrea’s cheeks, before allowing herself to simply stare into her eyes. 

“It’s good to see you again, vhen’an.”

“It’s good to see you, too, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe that this chapter was going to be a "First Conversation after the Deep Roads" fic until I remembered that, in Andrea's canon, Fenris and Merrill went with her and Varric? And that I only remembered that /after/ I had written in Day 2 that Hawke, Bethany and Anders went to the Deep Roads? Holy narrative continuity, Batman!


	5. Day Five: Making Out

Several things made Andrea Hawke nervous about Merrill. The blood magic had been a pretty obvious one, but she’d accepted its place in Merrill’s arsenal easily and when it became commonplace, Andrea put the fear of it out of her mind, for the most part. In the wrong hands, of course it was dangerous and fickle, like any other weapon, but Merrill’s hands were, literally and figuratively, the right ones. 

Andrea was most nervous about Merrill’s size. She was practically bone-thin in places, and shorter than her by at least a head and a half. In comparison, Andrea felt like a druffalo in a porcelain shop, even on her own; her metal plate only added to her bulk and her height, which always made her feel as if she was crowding Merrill just by being near. 

So, Andrea treated Merrill with extreme care. It was thrilling to feel like some chivalrous ideal of a knight in shining armor, but at the same time, she was constantly afraid of scaring or overwhelming Merrill. So Andrea never let things go too far, starting out. After their first kiss, a long, deep, soulful thing, she retreated to kisses of the short and sweet variety. There was always a twinge of melancholy when she would pulled back, and Andrea had begun to notice that Merrill pouted once in a while, but she put it out of her mind: better to let Merrill pick when to escalate than to pick the moment herself. 

It was after one good-night kiss, outside of the Hanged Man as she and Merrill diverged for the night, when she stepped back to see Merrill’s gaze fixed on her. The dim light of Lowtown at night gave her face a curious shadow, and she had a certain steady tone to her voice as she asked--

“Hawke? Would you mind dropping by tomorrow, say about four in the afternoon? I’ve got a bit of a thing that I’d like your help with.” 

“Of course, Merrill. I’m always available for you,” Andrea promised. A visit to Merrill’s was definitely an improvement from an unscheduled day on her own. 

“I know, Hawke. I’ll be seeing you,” Merrill said, a half-smile that Andrea had never seen before turning up one corner of her mouth and her green eyes catching a glint of light that sent a shiver down Andrea’s spine. Merrill turned, walking down the street towards the alienage, and Andrea felt her stomach flutter as she watched the elf’s hips sway, much smoother in motion than when Isabela had first tried to teach her to strut, years ago. Despite the cool night air, Andrea’s face felt hot. 

Four in the afternoon, on the dot, Andrea walked into Merrill’s home. She felt as if her head had been filled with dandelion puffs, her mind’s focus drifting away on a breeze, which was part of the reason that Merrill’s ambush worked perfectly. 

Before she could blink, Andrea crashed into the wall. Merrill’s hands clutched her head, pulling her face close enough to seal their mouths together. Thin fingers carded through deep red hair, pulling the leather tie off of it as they went, and sent the curtain swinging down towards Andrea’s face. It would’ve tickled, if she weren’t more focused on the way Merrill licked sweetly into the seam of her lips, pleading entry. Hawke granted it immediately, while she braced her hands against Merrill’s shoulders, neither pushing away nor drawing closer. 

Merrill’s hands flew from her hair, scrabbling for purchase against the buckles of Hawke’s chestplate. She tilted her head enough to whisper into the hot air between them. 

“You won’t break me, Hawke. I… I want… you to be less reserved with me. Like I am with you.”

“Merrill…” she breathed out, like a hiss. A dragon seemed to stand on her chest, it's hot talons of anticipation sinking into her. 

“Fenhedis, Hawke!” Merrill exclaimed, slapping one hand against her armored shoulder. In the low light of her home, Merrill’s eyes flashed and harded like crystals. In all of the time Andrea had known her, she never recalled seeing Merrill this frustrated. It was gorgeous. “I’m a lot less delicate than you all seem to think, and I’ll thank you to not be taking things slowly for my sake!”

Mirroring Merrill’s opening move, Andrea cupped her face in her hands. She pressed a series of searing kisses up her cheek, pausing at the first curve of her ear. 

“Message received, darling,” she replied. The puff of breath sent a shiver down Merrill’s spine, and Andrea could feel its origins where her fingers pressed against the back of her skull. Heat and satisfaction curled and stretched in her belly like a cat in sunshine at the thought that  _ she  _ did that, she made that happen for Merrill. 

Merrill’s cheeks were flushed pink, her grin wide and hungry. “Good. Where were we, then?” 


	6. Day Six: Cooking together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic Fluff but More This Time.

Like several things in the Hawke house, cooking had never been something that lent itself to being done peacefully. Neither Malcolm nor Leandra had grown up cooking for themselves, one with a legion of servants and the other with parents, for a brief time, then later the adult mages in the Circle. Ingredients often went forgotten until the last minute, and one or the other would often dart across the room to double check the recipe. It was a symphony of activity, whether the object of the day was bread or stew or some complicated dish that Malcolm would always insist would be an adventure. 

It was much the same in the current Hawke nee Amell Estate, when Andrea and Merrill put it in their heads to have a bit of an exchange of culinary backgrounds. Each woman was baking a loaf of bread reminiscent of what they’d had as children, specifically their favorite kind of bread. This was the exact kind of thing that, as vehemently as she would deny it, Andrea had always wanted to do, something domestic and sweet and deceptively easy. 

“Hawke, you know that’s molasses, right?” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Then why on earth do you have a fourth of a cup of it in your hand and not, let’s say, a teaspoon?” 

“Because the recipe calls for a fourth of a cup of molasses, Merrill,” Andrea said evenly as she poured the sticky brown substance into her mixing bowl.

“Does it really?” A swift movement, and Merrill stood at her side, peering at the scribbled recipe card. “Oh, Creators, it really does. Well, if you’re sure, Hawke…”

“You’re one to talk, Merrill, you’re putting fruit in your bread.  _ Fruit _ . Are  _ you _ sure about this?” She shook her head, but was smiling widely, to take the sting out of her comment. Merrill exaggerated an eyeroll, which assured Andrea all was still well. 

Andrea felt a humming contentedness take hold in her as the two of them moved practically in sync as they prepared their loaves for the oven. It wasn’t even that Merrill’s movements were graceful and she moved lightly on her lithe frame; it was also the grounding and assuring effect that her presence had on Andrea. It was a cup of tea on a chilly day; a nap taken in a beam of sunshine; an embrace, without the physical touch of a loved one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the abrupt ending, I wanted to move on to the next prompt too much and also it's midnight and I'm losing coherence. The dialogue is inspired by when I made a loaf of bread with 1/4 cup of molasses in it and I discovered that that much molasses in one loaf of bread is... not great, so I projected my feelings on Merrill. I hope this was fluffy enough for yall?


	7. Day Seven: One Sitting on the Other's Lap

Andrea looked over the tops of her cards, glancing quickly around the table. Varric was spinning a yarn about rats the size of cats and cats the size of mabari in Darktown, and how one of his various errand boys tried to tame an aforementioned cat; one hand was gesticulating wildly as it normally would, but the hand with his cards stayed stone-still and extremely close to his chest. Isabela had taken a different approach, propping her heels up on the table to show off her legs and holding her cards an arms length away to show off her bosom. Anders was chewing on his lip, desperately trying not to be distracted by the cat story or Isabela’s display. Neither Fenris nor Sebastian were present tonight, which Andrea couldn’t help but feel grateful for; she’d watched them grow closer to each other, independent of their little group, and she hoped that the final push would come that they’d stop dancing around each other. 

“Oh! Pardon me! Watch yourself! Is it just me or is the Hanged Man more crowded tonight?” 

_Speaking of dancing,_ Andrea mused to herself. Her heart seemed to tremble as Merrill practically swam through the crowd, weaving and ducking and contorting when need be, until she bumped into the table. She watched Merrill’s lips pout just a bit, but the gleeful light in her eyes remained unchanged as she surveyed the table. 

“ _And_ you started without me. This just isn’t my night, is it?” 

Varric smiled widely. “You know the game night rules, Daisy: the cards wait for no one.”

“Oh, well. I guess I’ll just have to watch until the next hand,” said Merrill, passing behind Varric and Anders, settling one hand on the back of Andrea’s chair. 

Andrea tilted her head up, enjoying the change in their height difference as she looked at the way Merrill swallowed, drummed her thin fingers on the backrest. Her mischievous smile was somewhat subdued, tucked into the corner of her lips. 

“May I, Hawke?” 

She felt her whole body flush as she garnered Merrill’s meaning. Slowly, Andrea moved one arm to sling around the side of the backrest, creating a space where a lithe elvhen mage would fit, if she was feeling cozy. Merrill, it turned out, was inclined to get very cozy. She sat braced against Andrea’s chest, one of her arms wrapped around the warrior’s broad shoulders and her head easily propped up with Andrea’s own. 

Andrea shifted one arm to brace more securely around Merrill’s waist. She inhaled, a little unsteady, and took no small amount of pleasure at the rose blush on Merrill’s cheeks when she felt the shaky exhale against that smooth cheek so close to her own face. They breathed the same air for that instant, before Merrill relaxed slightly into Andrea’s lap.

“I don’t know who started it, but Isabela and Varric both have the Knight of Dawn,” Merrill murmured only for Andrea to hear. 

She turned her head enough to purposefully press her lips to the soft skin of Merrill’s temple. Then, with the utmost care not to jostle Merrill, Hawke drew the top card off the deck. 

“Angel of Death!” She announced, smiling with supreme satisfaction. As Anders groaned openly and Varric and Isabela grudgingly laid down their hands, Hawke set down four cards with aplomb: the remaining Angels of Charity, Fortitude, Temerity, and Truth.

“Waiting for your lovely lady to show up to sweep the pot out from under us? You’re getting trickier the longer I know you, Hawke,” Varric remarked.

“Tricky, me? Can’t be. I’m just lucky,” she insisted. 

As Isabela dealt the next hand, Merrill whispered, “Will you tell me how you did that?”

“Later, at home, darling,” Andrea promised, planting a kiss on Merrill’s chin, to make her giggle. 


	8. Day Eight: Caress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one just did not want to be written, I'm afraid. Sorry for the long waits.

The grey winter sunlight caught the golden strands in Andrea’s hair, starting a fire on the pillow. Merrill almost wanted to brush it behind her rounded human ear, preventing the wildfire, but Andrea didn’t idle in bed for long after waking very often. She lay on her side, facing Merrill, with one arm thrown across her lover’s waist to almost cradle her closely, while the other arm hugged her pillow toward herself. 

_Even in sleep, Andrea’s trying to protect me._ It probably wasn’t entirely accurate, but Merrill felt a shiver of pleasure from the idea of always being this close to Andrea. 

In the depths of her dream, Andrea’s brow furrowed. Her shoulders tensed, and she tossed her head, emitting a soft grunt like she’d just been struck. Merrill cupped Andrea’s cheek with one hand and frantically stroked the soft skin there. 

“Wake up! Andrea, wake up!” she called softly.

The warrior’s whole body jerked, almost rolling herself completely onto her other side. Merrill reached out, pulling herself to press fully against Andrea, to firmly run her hands up and down her upper arms. 

“Come on there, get your head out of the dream, vhen’an, you’re safe, right here, with me,” Merrill murmured, before ducking her head to kiss the little knob at the top of her lover’s spine. She could feel the movement of Andrea’s breathing, how it slowed and evened-out, and Merrill slowed her hands to mirror it. 

“There you go, vhen’an, that’s it,” crooned Merrill. 

Andrea groaned, and enveloped Merrill’s hand in her own. “Merrill?” She twisted herself up and around, squinted against the bleak sunlight. Then she broke out in a grin, wide and little wobbly. “Protecting me against even my own nightmares, I see. Good morning, darling.”

Merrill nodded and pressed a kiss to the palm of Andrea’s hand. “It is that, vhen’an.” 


	9. Day Nine: Giggling

“Auntie Bela has presents!” 

The captain burst into the library, her arms full with a wooden crate that looked as if it’d seen many better days without the water damage that stained its planks. Merrill and Andrea, who were curled up in a knot of limbs in one armchair, raised their heads together to watch their friend stagger across the floor and ever-so-gently place the crate on the floor. 

“Presents?” Merrill asked, curious and excited. “Oh, Isabela, did we miss your birthday?” 

Andrea shifted, shutting the book that had been propped up on her knee and Merrill’s forearm, and let it slide to the floor. Isabela acknowledged it with a vigorous wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Are you starting off the evening with a spicy sample of the written word? You two reading anything else while pressed up in each other like that would be disappointing my imagination,” Isabela proclaimed as she crouched down to ease the lid off of the crate. “And how could you miss my birthday if I’ve never told you when it was, Merrill? No, I mean presents for you and Hawke.” 

Before either Merrill or Andrea could ask what, exactly, the presents were, a sweet mewling cry sounded. All three pairs of eyes stared at the box, in time to see a little cotton-ball-like head poke out from the top. Two overlarge, semi-translucent ears protruded from the soft head, and another cry exposed the miniscule needles that sat inside the little creature’s mouth. 

Merrill gasped in delight and threw herself out of the armchair in one fierce lurch, scrambling to sit next to the box and gaze at its contents with eyes that steadily grew in both size and apparent delight. Andrea moved to sit at her side at a more relaxed pace, and with a quiet huff of amusement, Isabela flounced down beside them. 

With the change in angle, Andrea saw two more kittens in the crate. The little furballs appeared to make a perfect set as the colors of their coat formed a gradient; from the darkest grey of Kirkwall’s overcast winters, to a soft grey reminiscent of the worn cobblestones with streaks of darker grey arcing across the little one’s spine, to the fluffy white not dissimilar to a certain elven warrior’s hair. 

The bravest one, with the palest fur, reached up to Merrill’s delicately outstretched fingers, and swiped its little pink tongue across her fingertips. Andrea would’ve missed the soft sound, the breathless giggle of pleasant surprise, if she wasn’t so enraptured with watching Merrill. Andrea remembered the curious, just-more-than-tickling sensation of a kitten lick, and the memory almost teased a similar sound of her.


	10. Day Ten: Shy

“I just don’t think she likes me,” Merrill frets, shredding a leaf of embrium as she walks and talks. Every fourth word, her wide green eyes dart up to the subject of conversation, their fearless leader, who appeared to intimidate Merrill so much. 

“Merrill, I realize why it must be hard to believe me,” says Bethany ruefully, “but Andrea really does like you. I’m not completely certain what’s gotten into her, but she thinks you’re quite lovely.” 

It isn’t technically a lie: Bethany couldn’t be one hundred percent certain without forcing a specific and truthful answer out of her older sister, but she had an inkling of an idea. This, the clamming up and the leaning away and the fleeting smiles that looked more like grimaces, was just like when Andrea would avoid girls in Ferelden, usually after admitting to Bethany that they were quite pretty, weren’t they, and so nice and they made her laugh, and so on. It was The Way Andrea Was with girls she liked.

However, with those girls, it usually ended when the Hawke family picked up and moved when someone saw Bethany or Malcolm do something impossible and the combined brawn of Carver and Andrea wasn't enough to guarantee silence. Clearly, that scenario wasn’t about to repeat itself, given that Andrea, Bethany, and Leandra were already at the last possible knot on their rope. Andrea, like Bethany, was probably trying to figure out how the matter would progress and eventually resolve, given that the usual outcome wasn't looming on the horizon. 

Bethany, unlike Andrea, is completely certain that her big sister would not be the first one to make a move. Andrea liked her routines, consistency, and schedule. With no way to practice a first move before going for it, she would teeter on the edge for an age without a push. 

_And we have been getting nothing but pushes lately_ , Bethany muses. 

“Don’t worry, Merrill. I know my sister. She’ll open up, with time.”

Merrill chews on her lower lip for a moment, staring after Andrea ahead of them. It’s likely not the stiff breeze that brought the flush to Merrill’s cheeks, but Bethany will pretend for her friend’s sake.

“I suppose I’ve got nothing but time; we’re all staying in Kirkwall for… a long while, anyway. There's time to get braver.”


	11. Day Eleven: A Walk In Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Hoping to get the rest of these chapters up as a part of Femslash February instead!

The birds high up in the branches of Sundermount’s grand fir trees twittered and chirped, and for the twelfth time today, Andrea thanked her lucky stars. It was a sunny day halfway through the month of Kingsway, when Kirkwall’s torrential autumnal rains were far off but the heat of summer had only just backed away. She and Merrill had started out of the city in the early hours with a chill breeze at their backs, each carrying an empty basket: one for Solivitus’ requested ingredients, and one for ingredients to be made into potions and poisons by Lady Elegant and Tomwise. 

Regardless of the errand, Andrea was simply enjoying a beautiful day outside with Merrill, who seemed to acquire a healthy glow at the exact second they stepped outside the city and only looked more radiant the longer they walked. 

Every once in a while, Andrea would spy a few wildflowers growing near the herbs and she plucked them up. She didn’t know much about plants outside of what they made, but the tiny, delicate petals felt a lot like the fluttering in her stomach and the softness of the skin on Merrill’s shoulders, so she took them with as much leftover stem as possible. Andrea bent and twisted the stems the way she faintly remembered a sweet teenaged shepherdess doing it, several years ago and a hundred miles away, grateful for the little snips of twine she kept in her pockets purely on whimsy—a whimsy that Merrill brought out in her.

“Let’s take a short break before we hike back down,” suggested Andrea, with only a few wildflowers left and trying not very well to hold the craft behind her back before the moment of presentation.

“And I should probably double-check that we have everything,” Merrill agreed, and sat down on a flat rock, warmed slightly by the sun. 

Andrea sat slightly behind Merrill, pulling the last knots together and gently testing the sturdiness of the flower crown before she turned it in her hands, looking at the colors; pale violet petals contrasted with splashes of bright yellow and tiny buds of white woven throughout. The butterflies in her stomach returned with a vengeance, making her fingers shake before Andrea gathered herself and turned to face Merrill.

“That’s everything! Not that I haven’t enjoyed this, but I’m glad I didn’t forget any--oh!” Merrill cut herself off as she took notice of what Andrea held. Her wide eyes darted from Andrea’s face to the crown and back as a flush of pink took hold on her cheeks. 

Grinning, Andrea leaned forward and gently set the crown atop Merrill’s head, feeling very flushed, as well. One of her hands darted down to hesitantly take hold of Merrill’s thin fingers, and the nervous shakes abated as Merrill returned the gesture, and entwined their hands. She dipped her head to press a short, sweet kiss to Andrea’s cheek, which softened Andrea’s smile. On the return hike, her hand stayed in Merrill’s, never straying.


	12. Day Twelve: Tucking Into Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea turned a page in Hard In Hightown, though she hadn’t absorbed anything from it, with her ears tuned in for any sound from behind Merrill’s bedroom door.

Andrea turned a page in _Hard In Hightown_ , though she hadn’t absorbed anything from it, with her ears tuned in for any sound from behind Merrill’s bedroom door.

Specifically, for a direct, unambiguous cry for help; Andrea had crashed through thinking there was trouble enough times that Merrill had given her a stern talk about the differences between what she could handle, what she was  _ working on _ handling, and when she would shout to summon the maul-wielding warrior into her workspace.

The mirror itself didn’t unnerve Andrea, despite the way the reflections it made were shimmery yet foul distortions, at least in the spots where it did reflect anything. It just sat there, because whatever magical properties it may have possessed wouldn’t work while it was corrupted, Merrill had explained to her. If the corruption was supposed to be visually apparent, it wasn’t, at least to Andrea; to her eyes, it just sat there, being an empty mirror.  _ That _ was what really unnerved her: because she had no idea what it could do, Andrea had  _ no idea _ what it’s limits were, what would or wouldn’t be effective. Merrill had summarized the need for her presence as, “if it somehow summons demons whose only attempt is to harm me, that’s when I’d appreciate some heavy reinforcements, Hawke.”

And so, Andrea sat at Merrill’s kitchen table, thumbing through the hard boiled mystery novel that she already knew the end of, trying and failing to not be on edge for a shriek of alarm. To Merrill’s credit, she’d never needed Andrea’s help before and, likely, wouldn’t anytime soon, so all of these intervals so far had been quiet. Andrea had even written a whole letter for Bethany during Merrill’s session the previous week.

She blinked her eyes, trying to refocus on the page, and she registered all of a sudden that the room was dark. Although the one window facing the street didn’t let in much sunlight, it was sundown-dark outside now, and the candle on the table in front of her sputtered, having burnt low in the interim. Andrea blinked again, and she could  _ feel  _ the lateness of the hour. She left the book on the table, and slowly walked to the door of Merrill’s bedroom, grimacing at every clink of her armor. 

“Merrill?” Andrea tapped on the door with one knuckle, and waited for four heartbeats. No response. She knocked again, then waited. No response again.

“Merrill, I’m going to come in,” Andrea said softly as she turned the knob on the door. She hadn’t picked up her maul before walking in, but she didn’t need it. Merrill was slouched against a bedpost, a book open in her lap, but her eyes were closed and she breathed deeply. A new bandage was wrapped around Merrill’s lower arm, and Andrea was pleased that Merrill was taking care of herself while working.

“Alright, up we get,” Andrea murmured to herself as she carefully settled Merrill’s weight into her arms. The sleeping elf murmured at being disturbed, but Andrea deposited Merrill into her narrow bed before drawing the three well-worn blankets up to Merrill’s chin. Andrea then tucked the end of Merrill’s ball of twine into the book to mark her place, and, before making her way out, pressed a kiss to Merrill’s forehead. 

“Safe dreams, Merrill.”


End file.
